Deeper
by Taintless
Summary: A story of Pansy Parkinson, and her relations with the Slytherins and with a certain Weasley. Probably the best story I've ever written out of the fifty. Very deep and quite dark. Implied abuse. New Chapter just added - my first update in years!
1. Chapter 1

_I think this is the best one-shot I've written..._

* * *

I hated who I was.

I hated how tainted I had become, how people could look down on me and see nothing but filth. I wasn't a girl in their eyes, I wasn't young and I wasn't innocent. I was dirty. I was dirty, but I had pure blood. Which made me a perfect target for my tortures.

You had to be hard to live in Slytherin. I wasn't, not at the start. I wasn't like Millicent. Nobody touched Millicent, she would have been able to fight them off. Me, I was always small, always thin and always weak. I had no means in which to protect myself. My family were not that well established, many of my relations had not shown utmost loyalty towards the Dark Lord, and my position in Slytherin was weak at best.

I had thought first year would be my saviour. I would be safe there, or so I had thought.

I lay in bed on my first night and felt safe. I had been sorted into Slytherin, my father would hopefully be happy enough and not punish me, and I was miles away from him anyway. I could lie asleep in my bed, naked and secure, not listening for the door to crack open or shivering and waiting for the cold, cruel hand that would slither up me. That night, I had thought I had found peace from my father at last.

I hadn't. Some sixth year boy came into my part of the room, drew my curtains around my bed, and, with his breath smelling strongly of fire whiskey, proceeded to take what he wanted from me. I had only been eleven, and yet I had known not to cry or scream; that would only make it worse, that had _always_ just made it worse. To this day, I don't know why he picked me. Maybe it was because I was so tiny. Because most of the girls in Slytherin, were large, muscled creatures and I was one of the only ones that resembled a girl.

Once he left, I lay there with my eyes dartingly dry, and realised that it was never over.

Boys visited me often after that. Word had gotten around that I was "_up for it_". I simply had laid there and waited for it to be temporally over.

I built up my own defence then. Words were sometimes more cutting than a fist. I watched small and puny Draco build up respect in his house just by using mocking words and correctly timed smirks and I mirrored his actions; his female equivalent.

The older boys began to graduate and I was left alone more frequently. Then, in fourth year, Draco and I came to an unspoken bargain. He would claim me as his, taking me to the Yule Balls, and therefore scaring the others off, and in reply I would allow him to visit me nightly. His hands used to make me shiver, but at least I knew the face of the one who hurt me. We never held any affection towards each other, but there was a grudging respect there, and a mutual bond of hate for our fathers.

But I still hated my life with all my heart. My scornful words meant little to me, and the look on my victim's faces meant little. I envied them with all I had, and I couldn't remember a time when I had smiled and laughed and been happy like I had seen them.

Granger became a little fixation to me. She was uglier than me, bigger and her hair bushier. Yet, she had it all. She had friends, she had smiles and happiness, she was loved. I wanted to bring her pain. I never could, though, she never cared enough, and when I had seen her at that Yule Ball, looking oh-so-beautiful, with my Draco staring at her, my heart had broke. My heart! A thing that had been lurking dormant for so many years.

How was it fair? Granger was a Mudblood. How could she have more than me?

Ginny Weasley was another one. A Muggle-lover and extremely poor. Yet she possessed more than I could ever wish for.

I went mad at Draco one night in fifth year, mad at Draco because he represented to me the coldness in my life and I was sick of it. I striked him in the face and his eyes had gone silver, his features chiselled in ice. He didn't come to me anymore then, had basically ignored me, and my fragile protection was broken. Boys came to my room once more. I was now a Slytherin joke, and some girls spat on me when they saw me. I was hated, and I tried to tell myself I didn't care, but I think I did. Boys came and drooled on me, with clambering hands and murmured words of threat. I used to wash myself every day but the smell lingered on me. Draco used to smirk at me when he saw me, knowing the pain he had doomed me to. He cared, I know that much, but he didn't care enough to save me, when he could have so easily. He began dating other girls and I found myself feeling lower than ever.

The day in sixth year Snape assigned me to be Potions partners with Ron Weasley, I was too far gone to care. Weasley noticed it, and didn't utter any spiteful words. We worked in silence, passing needed ingredients to each other, keeping watch over each other's potions to make sure neither of us made mistakes. It felt a somewhat relief to look into Weasley's clear blue eyes, and not see darkness and disgust looking back at me. His eyes seemed observant and I knew he was trying to work out why I wasn't being the bitch I used to be. I knew the reason. I couldn't be protected anymore, not from myself and my ever haunting reflection, and so there was no point.

Things were growing worse in my sixth year though. Boys didn't just come to visit me in my bed any longer. Now they pushed me into hallways and up against walls. Any where, any time. I had no part in their play, I had no say in anything. I was numb and cold and crying inside. I had to repair my uniform nearly every night. They often tore it in their frenzy. I thought of them as animals and nothing more. That is what they acted like, with gritted teeth and fearful growls and claws and talons and beaks ready to attack.

One dark cloudy day I was walking down a hallway as usual, when I felt a hand pull me into a hallway. That day had been one of my weaker days, and I squeezed my eyes closed and waited for it to come.

It didn't.

A voice did instead.

"Parkinson, er…you forgot this in Potions. I thought I better, you know, give it to you. In case it was important." I opened my eyes to meet clear blue ones. The relief that shot through me surprised me, flooding through my body and bringing back a spark of feeling again.

It was Weasley. He was holding a small silver bracelet, one of my mother had bought me in one of her rare moments of guilt, after seeing my face after father had punished me. It held no importance to me, but I could see why Weasley might think so. It was expensive, and my name was engraved upon it. He must have thought I would miss its presence and wanted to give it back to me.

This act of sweetness shown towards a girl like me changed something inside of me. Something twisted and turned and transformed. I wasn't sure why but I hugged him suddenly and he held me in his arms. I sighed, and my eyes watered although I didn't cry. I never cried. "Thank you, Weasley."

I had forgotten how tiny I really was until he'd held me in his large lanky arms, he was so tall and so warm.

I wasn't cold anymore. He blocked out the ice with his radiating heat, and I never wanted to leave him.

When I looked into his eyes, normally so observant of me, I saw that they were clear and understanding.

I took the bracelet from him, suddenly scared, stood up, stepped back from his warmth, and promptly ran away, leaving him staring after me, confused.

* * *

His hand lingered on mine just a little too long as he handed me the jar. I was aware of his every breath, every movement, every expression on his face. I knew every freckle of that face, and his blue eyes met mine too often. My lips curved into a smile, a smile directed into his direction, a smile with no meaning behind it except that I wasn't unhappy when he was there. He always returned the smile.

Something had changed and I didn't know what.

* * *

The boys visiting me seemed to hurt me more now though. Weasley had set something alive, and I could feel again. I was made to lie there, and think of Weasley face again and again, trying to feel his warmth instead of this cold hand, trying to count his freckles instead of feel this anguish, trying to hear his laugh instead of this ragged breathing and grunts. It was difficult and I found myself being sad again, feeling pain again. But sadness and pain were a sign of humanity, and I now often had dazed fantasised thoughts about how Weasley had made me human again.

* * *

I found going home harder in the end of sixth year. I didn't want to see my father again. There was limitations to what the boys could do to me in Hogwarts, but my father could beat me into a pulp and I was sure nobody would even notice.

How was I to think of Weasley, if I wasn't going to see him again for so long?

But why I really didn't want to go back was because I was worried that, when I'd returned, Weasley would have forgotten me, and the blue eyes would hold disgust as before, instead of that beautiful understanding I had learned to depend on. What if, when I directed that subtle smile towards him, he didn't smile back but instead scowled. What if Snape didn't make us be partners in potions again, and everything was lost?

* * *

I returned to Hogwarts in my seventh year with my defences back on and my scowl firmly in sight. It hurt to move, my last night at home with father had been one of the worst, and glamour spells did little to hide the real agony. I was acting like Malfoy's reflection again, teasing all the little first years and making all of Slytherin look at me again, with more than disgust in their eyes.

Once I saw Weasley again, that all went down the drain. I crumbled in on myself, and he smiled. As we passed each other on the train, he had time for a rushed whisper, and it was one that made my heart beat again, "I missed you, Parkinson."

The Slytherins were disappointed when I became silent again, and the boys made sure I felt their disappointment. Even the younger boys came to me now. I never fought, I didn't know how to fight. My father had always told me not to fight.

But, when potions began again, Weasley and I floated towards each other again, even when Snape let us pick our own partners. People stared, but thought it was because Potter and Granger were partners, after finally getting it together, so Weasley had nobody to partner with, and I had no friends to be partners with.

His eyes crinkled up when he smiled.

* * *

At Christmas, I had caught him in a hallway. I hadn't had the bravery to buy him a present but I had wanted to. I had wanted to with all my might, but I was still worried that that was too much compassion for me to shown. I was scared.

I coughed uncomfortably but he was grinning easily. I was surprised by this.

"I…ugh…just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, Weasley."

"Is that so, Parkinson, and why's that?"

The question caught me off guard, and I didn't know what way he meant it. Then a terrible thought plagued me. What if I had just imagined all the smiles and the expression in his eyes and the warmth? What if none of that had been real, that I'd just been desperate for some kind of happiness, in any shape or form? What if my life was really as hollow as I had once thought?

When I glanced flinchingly back into his eyes, I saw his grin was still in place and his eyes twinkling.

"I'm joking, you goat! Merry Christmas to you too!" he said in a merry voice and then took something from his pocket. "I got you something."

"W-What?" I stuttered because the fear hadn't quite gone, and because I didn't want a gift, I didn't think I deserved one, I hadn't done anything.

"A present," he said in a weaker voice and his ears had gone red.

I unwrapped the messily wrapped package and laughed. It was a quill. One little quill, that meant oh-so-much. My parents had bought me presents of wealth and beauty, and none of them even compared to this one little quill. It was red and green, for Christmas I supposed, and Merry Christmas was written on it in gold writing. I knew that the red and gold was because of Christmas, but I noticed the Gryffindor colours, mixed in with one of the Slytherin colours.

"Thank you," I said and my voice was light and breathy.

"It's only something small," he said, and I could see he was embarrassed now. "I…I sort of wanted to get you something bigger, but I…er…wasn't sure whether I should."

"It's perfect," I said, and I was a little ashamed by how openly honest my voice was.

"Are there…er….many Slytherins staying for Christmas?" he asked.

"No," I replied, "it's only me and three first years."

"Would it be…er…safe for us to go for a walk around the lake?"

My face cracked into a huge smile, despite myself.

I kept nodding quickly, until we began to walk together.

We talked of nothing deep. We talked about how our Christmas exams had gone, about the subjects they'd kept up and why, about Snape and how hard Potions was and why they both didn't know they'd kept it up but now, blushes were exchanged here, they were both happy they had kept it up. We talked of nothing deep, but glances and smiles and the brushing of hands and the little space between us told us a lot more about each other.

It was the best Christmas I had ever had.

* * *

Sneaky glances increased, and I found myself smiling all the time, even when he wasn't around. He was all I thought about, all I had to think about that made me happy. I _was_ happy. At least I thought I was, I hadn't really ever had much experience of it so I couldn't be sure.

There was something between us. When our eyes met, we understood each other. I understood Weasley more too. I understood what had made him tick. He was a very loyal person, I learned, and the way to make him angry or upset was to insult somebody he loved, like his friends and his family.

I wanted to make him happy. I wanted to make him understand me better. I wanted to make him like me, because I'd never been liked by anybody before.

I was learning so much. So much from him. Even though we didn't talk, we had a connection, and I knew, although I wasn't sure I knew how I knew, that he was coming to rely on me, as much as I did him. I was learning so much, and I learned that I'd been wrong. I had had no right to insult those people, even if it had been more out of force for protection, those people had done nothing to do with that and were innocent. I had been particularly hard on Granger in fourth year, for I'd been so jealous, and she was the first I wished to make it up to.

I wished to apologise.

Her expression had been distrustful but she had accepted my apology. Maybe she did it because I hadn't teased her or anybody in so long, or maybe it was because she could tell from my face that it was sincere.

I found it hard but I continued. I apologised to the two first years I had teased at the beginning of seventh year, they'd been shocked and frightened, but I think they accepted.

The next person I apologised to was Millicent. I'd always been rather tough on the girl because she had never been touched by the boys or visited at night, and I had hated her for that, hated her because she was big and ugly and unharmed. I'd teased her ruthlessly until I'd became indrawn and, although she had never shown any pain from my words, I knew then that I'd been unfair and I felt remorseful for it.

She hadn't accepted my apology. "What's happened to you, Pansy? What do you think you're up too? Don't come near me again." Millicent's eyes had been so full of spite.

News of my apologies spread and the Slytherins were angry. I was tarnishing their reputation. The boys didn't come to me then, and I was happy. What did I care if they hated me more? They had always hated me. I was different from them, I knew that now, and I didn't care about them anymore. I was like the quill Weasley had given me. I had only a touch of Slytherin in me now, one colour, and I was finally finding my bravery. I had to do this, and I knew they would never understand.

But Draco had come to me that night. He never came to me, not since I'd slapped him in the face. He came but his cold hands didn't touch me. "You're a disgrace, Pansy," he said in that sneerful little voice, "and we Slytherins will not put up with it." He threw something at me, a roll of parchment, and waited for me to read it.

I did, and it was like a kick in the stomach.

"Please...no, Draco…anything else but that…please…" I ripped the covers off me, offering him my used body, it was the only thing I could ever give him. "Please…don't…you know what he'll do to me…you wouldn't…"

Draco's grey eyes softened, but his expression remained hard. "I've sent that letter to your father, Pansy. You should know by now…You can't just _fall in love_ with a Weasley and get away with it."

I began crying and he watched me. I couldn't believe that Draco knew…knew how I felt about Weasley. He knew before I knew, and yet I knew then that it was true. I was in love with Weasley, and now my father knew.

"Slytherins just don't go with Gryffindors, Pansy." His voice held no argument, he believed it with his full belief. "They're different than us. They'll never accept us. Weasley will never accept you. I've seen you staring at him, smiling at him, apologising to his best mate, but you aren't that girl. You're _this_ girl, Pansy," he placed a cold hand on my thigh, "you're the Slytherin whore. You're too dirty."

"You've just sentenced me to my death, Draco," I told him, my voice low and breaking. "You've just told my father I'm in love with a Muggle-lover, and he's going to kill me…how could you? You know…you know what our fathers are like…"

"I also know that, even if I did hold any feelings for a Gryffindor, I would never act on them or portray them in any way."

"You haven't got a clue," I raged. "You don't know what my life…you don't know how he…you don't know _anything_!" I pushed past him, throwing him out of my way, and threw a plain black robe over my pale body, grabbed my quill and my wand and ran.

The quill was the only thing that mattered, that and my broom (I conquered it from the school broom closet, once I'd realised I needed it). With those, I was well equipped to flee from anywhere my father could find me.

* * *

I hid in Hogsmeade. I had possessed no money to bring with me. I resorted to stealing food. I became extremely dirty and slept on the streets, with my hood over my head, hiding my face.

My face surrounded me, posters of me hung every where. The contact was Dumbledore, he was obviously trying to find me, not my father. My father had disowned me now, I guessed. I did care, it hurt like hell because, even after everything, I wanted to please him. I wanted him to love me. I wanted my mother to notice me.

The Hogwarts school year ended. They'd done their NEWTS and I wondered how I might have done if I'd had the chance. It was a relief not to be in Hogwarts though, even with all the physical dirt that covered me, I still felt cleaner than having baboons like Goyle clambering on top of me.

I rarely wanted to eat and I became very weak, but I was well able to take care of myself. I had done so for so long now. My life was no worse here than before. I knew that I only needed to hide until I was eighteen. Once I was of the legal age, my father would have no power over me and I would be able to depart from this country myself. My thoughts were extremely muddled and slow but I dreamt of Weasley every night.

But I hadn't realised just how weak I had become. I seemed to stay in a half dazed trance. Not really asleep, but not properly aware of anything. I couldn't walk far and it hurt to lift myself up. I stayed in a dark alley, and felt very alone.

The day Hogwarts let out, students covered Hogsmeade. I tried to sink into the shadows, in hope that nobody would see me.

But he did. Of course he did. Draco Malfoy never missed a trick did he? His grey eyes had flared when he'd seen my fallen stature in the darkness and he sauntered over. I could hardly lift my wand and yet I did, looking at him evenly. "Keep away from me, Malfoy," I said shakily. My voice sounded strange, and I wondered how long it had been since I'd run away.

He walked towards me easily and took the wand from my hand and snapped it in one fluid movement. I watched the last of my defence go. I was completely helpless. There was no way I could stop him now. I was completely at his disposal.

"Merlin, Pansy, look at the state of you," he examined, and he did seem a bit unnerved. "When was the last time you ate, eh? When was the last time you had something to drink?" He sighed, looked around, then took an empty, dirty bottle from the alley way and transfigured it into a large chalice of pumpkin juice. Transfiguration had always been Draco's best subject, not Potions as many presumed. He lifted the chalice to my lips and I let it wash down my throat. I hadn't realised how painful and dry it had been.

Feeling began to come back to my body again. My fingers tingled.

"You're such a fool, Pansy" he chocked out. He transfigured a small rapper into an apple and lifted it up for me to bite into. I didn't question his actions. I didn't care. The apple tasted heavenly, and, with just one bite, I realised how starving I really was, and started biting and swallowing without even chewing. When finished the apple, I was still starving but that seemed to be all I was getting from him.

"I'm not a fool," I said once I'd finished. "This is what you did to me. How was I to face my father, after your letter? Would you face your father, if I'd sent him a letter telling him that you had fallen for Granger and were disgracing all of the Slytherins? You know what my father _does to me_, you know what he would have done to me. How could you have…?"

"I'm sorry," he said, and his words struck a cord in me. I had never heard Draco Malfoy apologise before. "I was angry, alright? I hadn't thought. I just sent the letter."

I started at him, and we were both silent.

"Malfoy!" Goyle and Crabbe were coming for him. "You alright? What you doing in there?"

I looked beseechingly at Malfoy. The sadness and torment in Malfoy's eyes startled me, I had never seen him look like that before.

"_I'm sorry…"_ I knew then what he was about to do because of the finality in his voice.

I turned my head away from him as I heard him shout, "Crabbe! Goyle! Come here! Guess who I just found!" There was the sound of large plundering footsteps and then grunts of surprise and delight.

"Our little Slytherin whore," Draco continued, and his eyes were empty again as he looked down on me, "back for a little more."

And then, all I saw was Weasley's face in my mind, and I realised I had to fight. I couldn't let them win. Not anymore. My father had always told me not to fight, but my father wanted me dead now. I couldn't let them touch me now.

I tried to stand as the two large boys crept closer to me, casting large shadows over me. I couldn't. But I didn't give up.

In once moment, I knew what to do.

I screamed.

I screamed for help.

I called out for help, like I had never done before.

Goyle and Crabbe jumped back, shocked. Never before had any of them heard me scream. My scream rang on and, surprisingly, somebody was there, somebody was there, coming to save me. I was only Pansy Parkinson, I didn't deserve to be saved and yet somebody had come, three people in fact.

The last thing I saw before I collapsed against the wall was a flash of red hair…

* * *

Somebody was covering me in a robe. Then they took me in their large arms. One finger touched lightly off my face. I felt protected, at last. I opened my eyes and saw clear blue eyes.

"Weasley…?"

"It's okay, Parkinson," he whispered quietly, "it's gonna be alright. Go back to sleep…"

And I did. Because I was protected now.

* * *

I woke up in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing. There was hardly any sound, and I wondered why until I realised that the school had been shut.

"Ms. Parkinson, I see you are awake. How're you feeling?" It was Dumbledore.

Madam Pomfrey was there too. "You should be okay now, my dear. You were terribly malnourished and dehydrated but I feel, as long as you keep your sugar levels up and take care of yourself, you will be perfect again in a couple of days."

I nodded because I didn't know what to say.

Dumbledore took one of my hands in his. A fatherly gesture, and one that made my eyes fill. "I want you to know," he said, "that I will do everything in my power, and that is rather a lot, to keep you safe from your father. We know all of what happened to you through your stay here in Hogwarts, Mr. Malfoy was made tell us, and I am deeply saddened that you had to take on this burden alone and felt that you couldn't come to us. I-I'm very sorry, Ms. Parkinson." He did look deeply upset and I squeezed his hand in return. Suddenly he had wrapped me in his fragile little arms and, without warning, I was crying. The walls were crumbling, the defence falling, and leaving everything bare for him to see. I was crying like I had never cried before, feeling everything spill out. I wanted to stitch myself together again, but I didn't know how.

I felt like a child again, and he felt like a father to me, the father I had always wanted and never had.

"I'm so sorry," I told him, spluttering. I was so sorry, for everything I had done or let be done to me. It had gone on too long.

"It's going to be okay, Ms. Parkinson, I'm going to make everything okay again…"

What I hadn't noticed was that there was three students still in the school, and they were watching this scene. "Is she okay?" Ron asked Madam Pomfrey as he watched me cry. I was ignorant of his presence.

"No," Madam Pomfrey said, and the three students were shocked by the shudder in her voice, "but she will be."

Harry wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist, pulling her closer, and turned to Ron with caring green eyes. "Ron, mate, are you alright?" Both of Ron's best friends knew, had known ever since I had disappeared and seen his reaction, how much he cared for me now.

"No," he answered quietly, his eyes trained on me, "but I will be." Then he stepped forward into my room to where I was waiting for him, with open arms, tears rolling down my face and a sad, grateful smile, a smile that he would always return.

* * *

_I'm so extremely proud of this, so please offer me a couple of reviews. I spent nearly the whole day writing this. Whatcha think? What should the rating be?_


	2. Chapter 2

My heart thudded dully in my ears. I tried to shut it out – for my heart to be beating, it meant that I was alive. If I was alive, then I could feel...could feel him. If my heart was beating, then this was really happening.

It started the same as usual, the crack in the door, the warning slap of his cane, the hands pulling me up my shoulders so that I was upright.

"Do it," he commanded coldly.

His face was a mask of distain and disgust. He hated me for what I did to him – but why did he keep coming to me? When will this vicious circle ever end? What had I done to deserve such hate? Hate that has existed as long as I could remember?

His cane came down on me again as a response to my hesitation, catching me in the right shoulder with a searing flash of pain. His eyes had an almost feverish glow to them as they watched the tears slowly gather in my eyes. I reached for him as I had reached for him so many times, and all his weight shifted on to me. He conquered all my senses now – I could see, hear, feel, smell and taste nothing but him – and he was putrid to me. Bile rose in my throat. Those cold hands and lips are all over me now. There was no tenderness – they squeezed, and grabbed, and bit, and sucked – but he could do this. _He owns me. I am his. _

No. This shouldn't be happening. I shouldn't be in my home bedroom. He doesn't own me, not any longer. I belonged to someone else...

I jerked awake with a startled gasp as the dream collapsed around me.

"Miss Parkinson...Pansy...it was just a dream." Madame Pomfrey came over, clucking like a frustrated hen in need of a good hatching. I had awoken nearly every night since being in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, in the same pathetic pool of sweat and tears. I could see the worry in Madame Pomfrey's face. She had dealt with a multitude of different injuries and spell malfunctions, but never had she a patient like me – my story had touched her, but she did not know how to fix me. All the potions in the world couldn't wash away the past – you couldn't just obliviate away a lifetime of memories. I felt I would endure these dreams for the rest of my life – dreams that really were a smeared blend of real life memories. Sometimes Draco featured, sometimes it was the other Slytherin boys, but the majority of the time, it was my Father. I believe he would never leave me alone.

"I'm fine," I said shortly. I was a Slytherin after all. I had cried once in this bed while in Dumbledore's arms, but I would not cry again. I liked to think I was stronger than that.

I had been in the Hospital Wing for about a week now. I was being treated for malnourishment and vitamin deficiency after my time spent hiding from my father without food or water. I had always been skinny, but I was somewhat of a skeleton now. When I looked in the mirror, I saw sunken cheeks and dark, bruised eyes. If I lifted up my night gown, I saw pale skin and pointy bones.

Pomfrey was adamant in feeding me up – a process I found frankly quite sickening. I had never had a big appetite at the best of times, and I had gone so long without that it felt strange to have roast dinners presented to me daily. However, what I didn't eat, Weasley mostly did – which saved me the hassle of getting in trouble. Weasley was my very own disposable bag.

I smiled to myself.

_Weasley_.

I closed my eyes and tried to wash away my dream with the picture of his face. His ginger, smiling, freckly face. My breathing slowed a little. My heart returned to a normal pace. My forehead unwrinkled and my frown eased.

He would be here soon. Once breakfast had commenced, he would arrive, and most of the time he wouldn't leave until after supper. Pomfrey had instructed us both with strict commands about when he could visit – and when he could not. There would be no overnight visits on her wing.

Pomfrey fetched me some porridge. It was thick and hot in my mouth and I struggled to swallow it. But the more I ate and the better I behaved, the faster my recovery. It had only been a week – and in the week, I really had improved drastically. While Pomfrey was adamant that what I needed was rest, I knew the day was coming when she would leave me free to roam around the castle. I wished for the day when Weasley and I would have some privacy.

He arrived after breakfast, as per always. The sun followed him in through the doors and windows. The Hospital Wing was transformed into a different place. I was transformed into a different girl.

As always, I worried about how I looked. I was used to, if not looking pretty, making every effort to pursue attractiveness. My pug nose would always stop me from being considered beautiful, but my hair had always been styled and I had spent much time purchasing and practicing with my makeup and cloaks. I knew now that my hair was unkempt, my face grey and tired and my eyes smudged in the blackness from another sleepless night.

If he cared – or noticed – how I looked, it did not show on that face. Instead, what registered was a beam of happiness at the prospect of spending another day with me, as well as the concern and worry for me that he couldn't quite hide, no matter how much he tried.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I said.

He sat down. It had only been a week. Yes, it had been a year of concealed glances and snatched smiles – but it had only been a week for us – to finally be able to sit together. To talk freely. To smile without the fear of others watching.

There was a silence.

It wasn't an awkward silence. He knew I was still in recovery, that it was only in the safety of this hospital wing that I was finally coming to terms with all I had been through, not just in the last few weeks, but in the vast years before Weasley had come and saved me.

And he had saved me, you know. He was my saviour. A smile and a quill – that apparently was all that was needed to save a girl like me. The Slytherin Whore.

He sat in the chair beside my bed. I stayed in my bed. We simply looked at each other.

He smiled.

I smiled.

He, almost with a scared hesitancy, took my hand in his. Our fingers locked. In that moment, I knew that nothing would break us - that he was here for me, and that someday I would repay him by being there for him.

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

In that silence, I found peace.

I began to get better. Time is a healer in itself. Resting in a bed without the fear of boys creeping in through the night eventually trained me to sleep soundly. The feasts Pomfrey presented me finally seemed to be taking effect – My appetite grew, I had a bit of colour in my cheeks at last and a bit of flesh on my bones.

The dreams were less.

The time with Weasley became less about silences and sleeping, and more about the interaction between us. I found I could not shut up – I had so much to tell him. We stumbled over each other's words with an almost feverish excitement. He learnt how much I hated fish, how I had once gotten lost in the Room of Requirement, how I liked my eggs and how often I got the hiccups (quite often – I hate them!). I learnt how many brothers and sisters he had, how he hated Brussel Sprouts but otherwise liked all foods, all about his favourite Quidditch team and all about his Wizard cards he collected.

We played Chess. I had never really played before, so he taught me, and he beat me. But I got better each time we played, and I knew the day was coming in which I would win. I looked forward to the day. Teasingly, I told him this often.

Madame Pomfrey let me get out of bed soon. In fact, the fresh air would do me good, or so she said. Of course, it was the summer holidays so there was no students in the castle. Weasley and I, we roamed the grounds like we owned the place.

With the sun beaming down on us, we played a game of one on one Quidditch. We sat by the lake for hours on end, sometimes in silence, sometimes in the persistent babbling that had now become common place. We explored the Room of Requirement, and he held my hand so I would not get lost again. I showed him the Slytherin Common room and heard all about how he had been here before. He let me in to the Gryffindor Common room and, as I stood there in the warm, glowing room, I wondered how it all would have been different if I had been sorted into this House. Or maybe things would always be the same; maybe those boys would have found me eventually. I would never know.

I still stayed in the Hospital Wing every night – it didn't seem right to stay in either House anymore. I think Madame Pomfrey liked the company.

I began to wonder where I would go once the students started returning to Hogwarts.

I had missed my exams of course; I had been acting like a street rat in Hogsmeade at the time. Dumbledore offered me the chance to take them before September commenced – "a special exception." I thought this was good of him. I think he understood I could not stay in Hogwarts for another year, especially with Ron not at my side.

Ron and I had to go to Diagon Alley so, to purchase some new supplies. I wanted new parchment, new cauldrons and new quills (except of course Ron's quill, which I would keep forever). I also wanted to buy new beauty products – I wanted Ron to think of me as pretty, and not as the ragged victim I had been as I had lain in that Hospital bed. I wanted a new start.

My new start quaked underneath me, however, as I saw a face in the crowd. The face I would never, ever forget – my father's face.

Weasley, bless him, had never seen my father and so was absolutely oblivious to my plight. He continued blathering about some topic as he dragged me closer and closer to Father. I wondered almost scornfully and desperately how stupid, ignorant, _idiotic_ of Weasley to miss the cold sweat which had now enveloped my body or the thin shiver which had taken over in spasms. How could he not see the blatant fear on my face? And then I realised that I had years of experience in hiding these feelings, years of practice that I had immediately adopted at the sight of him, my father – my captive.

"Ron..." I whispered.

The sound of me using his first name must have shocked him, and he looked at me with round blue eyes. I could not look in his direction, my eyes were glued solely on one person alone. My father must have felt the heat of my eyes, because he was turning towards me now.

I watched as his face registered at first surprise, which slowly crumbled into distain, then flickered into disgust, before finally landing and staying on the hatred I knew so well.

He took a step towards me.

I flinched, and went to back away.

Ron caught hold of my hand and squeezed tight. He was looking at my father now too.

Oh, Stupid, ignorant, idiotic Weasley – my _hero_. Yes, that was dramatic of me to think – but in that flush of emotion, the word hero rang loud and true. He was my block, he was mine, he was the one to grab on to and hold – he was the only thing solid in my liquid world.

With his hand in mine, I stood up tall and met my father's eyes.

I realised in that moment that there was nothing he could do to me here. I wasn't lying on my bed in stripped nightclothes waiting for him to take me – I was among people, I was with Ron – he could not hurt me now. With a dawning shock, I realised Father would never have the opportunity like that to hurt me ever again. I had no wish to return home ever again.

"Father," I said with a nod. I was proud of the steadiness of my voice.

"Pansy," he said in a curt voice. "I see you are keeping well." He cast one fleeting, disgusted glance at Weasley. "I command that you come home with me at once. We have a lot to discuss."

He had disowned me quite a time ago, of course. He had disowned me when Draco had sent him that letter, and he would have killed me if he had gotten the chance back then. But I was older now – he had no claim on me any more now that I was of age – and I was stronger.

I think that's what shocked me the most – that Father thought I would go. That he thought even after all this time that I would follow his orders without question. And then I realised of course that it is what he thought – he had no reason to think otherwise; I had never once disobeyed him.

I looked at him for a minute or two, Ron's hand still heavy in mine. And then I looked at my mother – the tiny, anxious little puddle who had sat by idly and let Father hurt me – because it meant when he was hurting me, he was not hurting her. I understood that, I suppose – but I had only been a child. She blanched under my steady gaze.

I looked at them both – memorising both of their faces at that moment, because I knew I would never see either of them ever again. And then I left go of Ron's hand, and I turned and I walked away. I didn't need to rely on Ron at this moment. I finally felt strong enough to stand on my own two feet.

Behind me, I heard Ron tell my father that if he ever saw him again, he would kill him.

It was an idle threat – Ron could kill nobody. Part of me wished he had left me have the last say with my father – but Ron was hot headed and rash and overly protective – and I loved him for it. He loved me for all my faults – his faults just made me love him more. He caught my hand in his again, and I held on tight. I knew now I was able to stand on my own two feet – but it was nice to know for the first time in my life I didn't have to.

When we returned to Hogwarts that night, we sat in the Gryffindor Common Room together. I played with my new parchment and quills as if I was a child. I organised my notes from last year. Ron likened me to Granger, which made us both laughed out loud.

When our laughter had subsided, I asked if I could stay with him that night.

He went red, as red as his hair, starting with his ears and spreading to his cheeks. He croaked, "Yes."

I smiled, despite myself.

He turned away as I got changed for bed. I wore one of my prettier nightgowns; it was white and soft to touch – bought only that day, so he would not have seen it back in the Hospital Wing - I felt like a different girl now. I wore my hair lose around my shoulders and I could feel the healthy flush in my cheeks. I knew at that moment as his eyes caught mine that he thought I was beautiful. I had never felt beautiful before.

Almost as if compelled, he drew me close to him and kissed me gently. Our first kiss – after all this time.

"Eh... I should tell you...I've never, you know, gone the whole way..." Ron stammered. I felt a fine tremble rise through him, a shudder.

"Well, either have I," I said. "I mean, not really." I felt a similar shudder race through me. "Not willingly." My voice dropped to a whisper. "Not with you."

But we didn't. Not that night. I wasn't ready, and I don't think he was either. He held me as I drifted off to sleep, and he kissed me on the forehead good night. I had never felt safer, and I had never felt so loved.

That night has seared itself in my memory. Other nights would come – different types of nights for me and Ron. But this night had been special – because I saw now for the first time that intimacy was different than anything I had ever done before, and that I really was as new to all this as Ron was.

"Goodnight," he murmured, on the brink of sleep.

I smiled from within his arms and said, "See you in the morning."

It really was only the beginning for me.

* * *

_Got a review for this last night - I haven't written anything in like years! But I couldn't sleep last night until this was written. So thanks x-mycloudisinthesky-x! :)_

_I'm a little shaky on my Harry Potter trivia, so forgive me if I got anything wrong! x_


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